


But Pain... Pain is in the Mind.

by ColorsofaYinYang, Heir of Hope (ColorsofaYinYang)



Series: Suits and Suitors [1]
Category: Homestuck, Inception (2010), Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22359355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorsofaYinYang/pseuds/ColorsofaYinYang, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorsofaYinYang/pseuds/Heir%20of%20Hope
Summary: Not for the first time, you contemplate dropping yourself into Limbo. It’d be a lot better than living here as a waste of space that can’t even finish a sentence without stuttering. But Sleuth and Dick need you, and your current job keeps you from having to deal with others too much, and those are the only reasons you refrain.OR: Pickle Inspector is an architect, but when you enjoy living in dreams more than real life, something has to give.
Relationships: Diamonds Droog/Pickle Inspector, Problem Sleuth/Spades Slick
Series: Suits and Suitors [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1308776
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Eyes Open

This is your least favorite part of your job, you think. Glancing around the dimly lit bar, you are relieved to find there are no eyes on you, hunched away in the corner as you are. It’s a classy joint, much fancier than any of the places you would normally go for drinks, and well… you weren’t exactly prepared with the right kinds of clothes. Nevertheless, everyone seems to be minding their own business, which is good.

  
Sleuth’s chatting up the bartender, using that natural charisma to weasel out bits of information on their targets. Dick’s outside, keys in the ignition in case you need to make a quick getaway. You’ve been tailing a mysterious group of criminals known as the Midnight Crew across the globe for the past three months, trying to scrounge up any information about their next heist. So far, nothing substantial.

  
Someone jostles into your table, causing tea to slosh out of your cup. They slur out an apology. You smile and nod and keep your eyes down. Sleuth always insists on having you as the lookout and Dick as the driver on account of the fact that you draw less attention, but you might volunteer as driver next time. This is already too much social contact, and it’s only halfway through the night. And Sleuth wonders why you prefer projections over real people…

  
The investigation has been dragging on for some time now, and you wish Sleuth would let you drink at least a little bit, if only to take the edge off your nerves. But your coworkers need you completely sober if you’re to watch their backs properly, and your loyalty to them supersedes any impulse you have to inebriate yourself. Besides, as much as you like it, you’ve been trying to wean yourself off alcohol and in its place you’ve developed a penchant for tea. You take a sip from your now half-empty cup, trying to calm yourself down with the gentle taste of chamomile.

  
A hand brushes your shoulder, lingering for a moment. You whip your head around but can’t seem to find the culprit. Something feels off about this whole thing… you turn back to signal Sleuth, but he’s not at the bar anymore. You scan the crowd anxiously, but he’s nowhere to be seen. With trembling fingers, you reach toward your pocket for the walkie-talkie, meaning to call in Dick-

  
-but a strong, elegant hand grabs your wrist, lacing your fingers together over the table. You ogle the dark carapace who’s slipped into the seat across from you, sizing you up with a bored expression on his face while he keeps your dominant hand pinned to the table under the guise of romantic handholding. This man… he knows what he’s doing. Was probably observing you all night, learning your mannerisms and coming to the conclusion that if he cornered you, you wouldn’t do a thing about it.

  
With his other hand he puts a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it fluidly. The smoke rises in the dim light, grey and mysterious. “Y-you really shouldn’t smoke,” you stammer out, for lack of anything better to say.

  
A quirk of the lips. “I think you should be more concerned about your own health than mine, Inspector.” He knows who you are. He wants you to know he knows. It’s an intimidation tactic, one of the oldest tricks in the book. You still can’t help but feel a little intimidated. But if he knows who you are… your eyes catch on his lapel pin, a simple red diamond.

  
“Ah… apologies for my b-bad manners, Mr. Droog.” His eyes narrow slightly, confirming your theory. You’ve done your research, and you know the names of the four members of the Midnight Crew. You never knew what they looked like, though. He’s inadvertently given you more information to add to your mental files. Dersite, well-dressed, tall and streamlined with nothing excess to read a personality from. But that in itself clues you in on some of his traits. A professional, this one; paranoid enough not to give any hints away, smart enough to do his research in advance. The kind of man who doesn’t like to get his own hands dirty, but will do so if he must. 

  
You’re brought back to attention by a squeeze to your still trapped hand. He leans in closer, studying your face. “Tell me, Inspector. Why have you been following us? Surely you know we’re a force to be reckoned with. Why bother putting your team in the spotlight?”

  
“It wasn’t m-my idea,” you protest meekly. He frowns at you.

  
“Yet you chose to follow along anyway.” Releasing your hand, he stands up ominously. “You made the wrong choice, Inspector.” You make a desperate grab for your walkie-talkie but he swiftly lunges forward, seizing your coat lapel and slamming you back into the booth. No one in the crowd is even looking in your direction despite the pained groan you let out. You’re on your own. 

  
“Now tell me. Whose idea was it?” He’s so close you can smell the smoke clinging to his clothes. “Was it that goody-two-shoes Sleuth? Or was it that idiot Ace Dick?”

  
You nod, too shaken to specify which one. He sighs slowly and releases his grip, smoothing down your lapels. Obviously he realizes he’s not going to get much out of you if you’re a nervous wreck the whole time. He leans back carefully in his seat and stares you down.

  
“I have a proposition.” He crosses his arms. “Convince your team to stop investigating us, and I won’t put a bullet through your friends’ heads.” But you’re not listening anymore, because when he had slammed you into the booth your head had snapped back, and you couldn’t help but notice that the ceiling was entirely brick.

  
You did your research. The owner of the bar liked the way brick looked but wanted a more earthquake resilient ceiling, so she commissioned the entire ceiling to be made of wood, detailed to look like it was brick.

  
“I will not let you hurt my friends, Mr. Droog,” you say, slowly inching your hand toward your key.

  
He smirks. “So we have a deal, then?” Self-assured. Overconfident. A weakness that will disappear after this meeting. You smile faintly at him.

  
“M-maybe next time.” Quick as a flash, you press your key to the underside of your chin and pull the trigger. You barely get a glimpse of his shocked and furious expression before you gasp and jolt awake. 

  
You’re slumped over the table, cup of tea sitting cold next to you. Normally, one wouldn’t remember their dreams, but you have the advantage of an extremely high imagination stat, and thus you remember every detail perfectly. Looking around, you spot Sleuth in the corner, fully engaged in a conversation with the owner, a dainty Prospitian dame with a colorful headscarf. You don’t see Droog anywhere. The angry stabby bartender is gone, too. Must have slipped something into your drink when you weren’t looking.

  
With shaking hands you press the button on your walkie-talkie and radio for backup. You’re on their radar now. You’ll have to be a little more careful tailing them, now.


	2. Days Passing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depressed domestic PI for the soul.

Predictably, Sleuth fusses over you when you tell him what happened. He also gets extremely embarrassed when he realizes the feisty bartender he gave his number to was none other than Spades Slick. Dick gets angry and threatens to kick Droog into the sun the next time you see them. You politely tell him that’s not necessary, and that you can handle yourself.

You can’t handle yourself. It’s one of the many reasons Sleuth keeps popping in on off days, under the pretense of “just dropping off this case file, and hey I went shopping, here have a bag of groceries.” You take the food and pretend you don’t notice what he’s doing, and he pretends not to notice the dark bags under your eyes. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.

The days blur together when you’re not chasing the Midnight Crew. Mostly you stay inside and do research, brainstorm new levels, and on occasion help out with small jobs (a dame who wants to know if her boyfriend is cheating on her, an elderly man who wants help solving his chronic nightmares). You throw yourself fully into your work and only take breaks when you notice the sticky-notes that Sleuth’s left around the office with little reminders scrawled out in sharpie. 

In the dream, you never have to remember to eat. You never have to sleep. It’s only natural you’d forget to do those things in your waking life. Sleuth’s friend Dame, your chemist, had warned you about the effects of the serum on your normal sleep cycle, but you aren’t really concerned about it. Why sleep normally when you can dream and become a god?

But in the end your body succumbs to the need and you fall into a fitful slumber, slumped over your desk with the shutters closed and your 5th cup of tea cooling next to you. You must be out for a while, since when you wake up you're in a different place. It takes you a moment to register it, though, what with the burlap covering your eyes.

A rough hand pulls the hood off of your head, and you blink bewildered at the bright fluorescent lights above. Your hands are tied up behind your back, locked around the bars of the chair. A small Dersite pokes his head through the doorway ahead and beams. 

“Hey! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up!” He shuffles quickly into the room, and the hulking man behind you goes to stand next to him. “Listen up, buster! We got a major problem here, and you’re part of it!” Your eyes flick to their lapels. Clubs and Hearts. Half of the Midnight Crew right in front of you, and you’re helplessly tied up in a chair. You’re slightly worried about Boxcars, because while he could snap you in half like a twig it’s at least possible to outwit him in some way, if he doesn’t get angry and kill you first. But Deuce… Sleuth and Dick think he’s harmless, but you know better. An utterly unpredictable person with a penchant for explosives is always a bad time. He could be difficult to slip away from.

And if half the Crew is here, that could only mean Slick and Droog are a stone’s throw away. And those two you really can’t deal with. Sleuth could probably deal with Slick, no problem, but the knife-wielding Dersite scares you. And Droog… Droog’s going to straight up kill you after the stunt you pulled last time. If they get here… GPI only knows what will happen to you then. 

“What sort of problem?” You ask, trying futilely to keep the tremor out of your voice. Deuce makes to speak but Boxcars grunts and puts a hand over his mouth.

“Let Droog explain,” he says. “Skaia knows you’ll mess it up.” The two of them bicker as they leave the room and you start to panic, heartbeat skyrocketing as you futilely try wriggling out of your bonds. The struggle is short-lived, however, as a shadow appears in the doorway just under a minute afterwards.

“Inspector,” he greets coolly. There’s nothing in his face to indicate murderous intent, but somehow that just makes you even more nervous. At least you would have known what was on his mind. He slides closer, grabs a chair that had been folded up against the wall and sits across from you, resting his elbows on his legs so he can steeple his fingers and place his chin on them, watching you intently. “I’ll admit,” he begins. “You’re better at covering your tracks than I expected. For a while, I thought you’d actually given up on the chase.”

“It helps when you’re scared for your life,” you mumble. He gives you a grudging smile. You get the feeling he’s sizing you up, like prey.

“I’ll be frank with you, Inspector. We need your help.” He grimaces, as though the words put a bitter taste in his mouth. “Once I got over the initial… displeasure of our first meeting, I found myself admiring your skills. We have a very important job coming up, and we could use an experienced architect. Deuce isn’t exactly the most reliable when it comes to noting details.”

You can’t detect any lies in what he’s saying.  _ He thinks you’re admirable? Why?  _ Clearly he doesn’t understand who you are in your waking life: a thin, stammering Prospitian who can’t even lift a handgun, let alone the incredible weapons you conjure up in the dreams. You may be useful to him on a job, but outside of the dream you’re a liability.

And besides, you’d rather not end up helping the criminals you’re trying to apprehend. You’re working up the courage to tell him  _ no, thank you,  _ when he lets out an impatient sigh and pulls out his walkie-talkie. “Let ‘em talk,” he says into it, then crosses the room to hold it near your face.

“Pickles! You all right?” It’s Sleuth. You glance up at Droog with wide eyes, but he just raises an eyebrow as if saying  _ go on.  _

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter. “Are you? Where’s Dick?”

“We’re both here,” you hear Dick reply, slightly further away than Sleuth. Then there’s another voice that chimes in, loud and snappish.

“Hey Droog, wrap it up already. Either you’re a terrible interrogator or-” Droog frowns and proceeds to flip the off switch, cutting off the other as he starts listing supposed incompetencies. 

“So, what’ll it be? Help us and allow them to live? Or…” he trails off meaningfully. You adhere to your list of values very strongly: logic, justice, and your teammates’ safety. But out of those three, there’s only one that is immediately important. You nod and force yourself not to tremble.

“I’ll help.” He smirks, self-satisfied, but on impulse you blurt out, “You have to let them stay. I-I don’t work well without them.” Droog curls his lip at the explanation and searches your face, probably for an indication that you’re lying. You’re not. You don’t think you’d function properly at all without Sleuth and Dick.

“I’ll see what I can do. Slick’s not gonna like that,” he mutters to himself. He produces a knife from GPI-knows-where and approaches swiftly, slicing through the ropes with one smooth motion. “Let’s go, he’s probably already pissing himself in anticipation.”

He leads you through the hideout with a hand on your shoulder. You can see his fingers out of the corner of your eye: long, elegant and with neatly trimmed nails. Detail-oriented down to the bone. Which reminds you...

“Why aren’t you the architect?” You ask, curiosity winning out over hesitance. He shakes his head.

“I don’t have the imagination for it.” You doubt that. The dream he had conjured up during your first meeting had been nearly perfect. If it wasn’t for that ceiling mix-up, you would never have known it was a dream. You tell him as such; he snorts. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Inspector.”

The two of you walk into what seems like the Crew’s living room: there’s a pool table shoved up against the far wall, a worn-looking leather couch facing an old black-and-white tv, and a round table covered with playing cards and surrounded by a couple of stools near the center. Slick’s got Sleuth trussed up in the corner. Relievingly, your fearless leader looks no worse for wear; in fact, he’s having a hearty conversation with the irritable Dersite, even going so far as to crack a joke which has Slick cracking up.

“Slick,” Droog interrupts sharply. “Where’s the other guy?” Slick immediately stops laughing and turns to roll his eyes at Droog.

“Big guy’s out back with Boxcars and Deuce,” he drawls. “Kept snapping the ropes, so they wanted to have a fight to see who was stronger.” Sleuth lights up once he sees you.

“Hey Picks! This guy’s a riot,” he greets, pointing with his head at Slick. “You got somethin’ figured out?”

Droog frowns. “About that-” the door bursts open, and Dick trudges in with Boxcars right behind him. Deuce hops inside behind them and kicks the door shut.

“Boy, that was real fun! We should do that again sometime.” He looks at you, craning his neck upward since you’re so much taller than him. “Nice to meetcha again! I think it’d be real handy to have another architect with us, Boss always yells at me when I mess up.”

“‘S not that often,” Boxcars reassures. He then sits on the couch, wincing as he bends his legs. 

“Hey, PI,” Dick greets as he flops onto the other end. “Those guys put up a pretty good fight.” He nods at Sleuth and lets his head dangle backwards over the back of the couch to look at you. “So you workin’ with them?”

Droog growls. “Would you all shut your traps for a moment. The ultimatum is: all three of you are staying.” He glances around the room expectantly, as if waiting for the inevitable outburst of rejection. 

Sleuth shrugs in his bindings. “All right.” Dick’s already fast asleep on the couch. You give Droog a wobbly smile.

“I can start working right now, if you want,” you offer. He seems to be stupified by your team’s compliance. You don’t blame him; Sleuth can be  _ aggressively  _ cordial when he wants to be. “Droog?”

He seems to snap out of it once you say his name. “Right. Come this way, I’ll brief you on the job.” You follow him out of the room, glancing back to see Slick cutting Sleuth’s ropes and Deuce drawing a moustache on Dick with a marker. You’re still wary of the Crew, of course you are, but… it’s kind of nice to have so many people around.

You’ve never really felt that way before.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crew x Team Sleuth dynamics are always fun to write. I oscillate very heavily between Sleuth and Slick being best buds who bond over their unique forms of violence and them being bitter rivals who happen to end up in bed every so often. I mean, both are equally plausible at this point.


End file.
